


Daughter Trap

by beyondcanon



Category: Glee
Genre: Comedy, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondcanon/pseuds/beyondcanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana walks in on her daughter having sex with Rachel and Quinn’s daughter. They’re not admitting their feelings to each other, so Brittany comes up with a plan to save the Lopez-Pierce-Fabray-Berry 4th of July Extravaganza.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daughter Trap

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of [my prompt challenge on Tumblr](http://beyondcanon.tumblr.com/tagged/ma%27s-prompt-challenge). Some stories will be posted on AO3; this is one of them. Enjoy! :)

**i.**

Santana drops the tray of cookies on the floor with a loud thud.

"OhmyGOD! MY SWEET GOD FATHER OF JESUS! WHAT IS HAPPENING!" She takes one, two steps back and closes the door. "BRITTANY SUSAN PIERCE, COME HERE TO SEE WHAT _YOUR_ DAUGHTER IS DOING!"

Brittany's wearing an apron and drying her hands, confused frown. "But Sara is your daughter too, San."

Santana isn't listening, not at all. "MY EYES! It's all their fault!"

Brittany touches her wife's elbow, pulling her close. "What are you talking about, honey?"

Sara's bedroom door opens. She's got a sheepish little face, much like her 8-year-old self so many years ago. "About me."

Elliot appears, right behind Sara. Her hair is mussed – the dirty sex kind of mussed – and her usually pale cheeks are burning a flame red tone. "Hi, Ms. Lopez-Pierce."

Santana's head is going to explode. "Sara Maria Lopez-Pierce, when I said you and Ellie were welcome to spend summer vacations I did not mean _deflowering each other under my roof_!"

Brittany only smiles – Santana's such a drama queen, really – and hugs Sara and Elliot. "I'm so happy for you! Do Quinn and Rachel know? We have to call them!"

Elliot hazel eyes grow big, big. "NO!" She grabs Brittany's arm. "My moms can't know. Please."

"We're not together," Sara says, and her fierce face has never been so much Santana, all over again. "We're… Friends with benefits?"

"Oh no, you _didn't_." Santana nostrils are flaring. "I did not carry you for nine months for this. I did not have stretch marks for you to be afraid to be gay!"

Santana is breathing loud through her mouth and fanning herself with her hand. Brittany starts rubbing circles on the back of her neck, a trick old as time to calm her down.

"It's okay, sweeties," she says. "Santana's a lesbian, I'm bisexual, Rachel is gay for Fabray and Quinn can eat a bitch under the table. It's okay if you're lesbianing together."

Santana slaps Brittany's hand away. "It's not! Sex! Under my roof! On her Powerpuff Girls sheets! Brittany!"

"Everyone deserves orgasms, San." Brittany raises her eyebrows. "Sara is 20, Ellie is 22. You and I have been scissoring since we were 15."

"They _don't need to know that_!" Santana hisses, crossing her arms in stubbornness.

Sara is brave enough to snort. "Way to go, mama."

Brittany places one hand on Santana's shoulder and the other on Sara's. "Let's take a deep breath."

The sharp look she gives Santana is enough to get them all breathing together.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

"Sara, since you traumatized your other mother, you'll clean the cookie mess in your room." Brittany squeezes her daughter's shoulders and mouths _I'll handle this._ The thankful look she gets is one of companionship and trust. She smiles.

"Santana, you and I are going to the study and drink until we're over this. Or we pass out." Santana gruffs, but nods.

"Ellie, you'll bake a new tray of cookies in punishment for traumatizing your future mothers in law. Sara will help you when she's done cleaning. _No lesbianing in the kitchen."_ Elliot nods eagerly, still not looking into their eyes. "We'll talk more later, okay?"

The group disperses.

Santana closes the study's door behind them. "Fuck if there's enough Johnnie Walker in the world for this."

Brittany rolls her eyes.

* * *

**ii.**

Well, if this isn't the most awkward thing Quinn has ever lived — and she _is_ counting the whole wheelchair fiasco in high school and that time in college the butt plug got stuck and the pizza guy arrived.

Quinn sighs.

Santana is drowning in Johnnie Walker black label like there's no tomorrow, Brittany palming her thigh like she's afraid Santana is going to skyrocket any moment now, and Rachel has just _crushed a glass in her own palm_ , blood dripping into the brand-new carpet in the Lopez-Pierce study.

"They- sex- _my little girl!_ " Rachel shrieks, completely oblivious to shards of glass sinking on her skin. "Sex!"

Brittany leaves the room with a desperate look of _help me on this one please_. Quinn nods.

"Hey," She turns her voice to calmer, more soothing version of the best meditation tape to ever be released. "Rach."

Her wife turns to her, blinking, lower lip trembling.

"Ellie is about to graduate college. She's an adult." The trembling intensifies. She grabs Rachel's hand carefully, palm up. "She's making her own choices."

"Awful choices," Santana mumbles, sipping her drink. "Under my fucking roof choices. It can't be unseen. I need therapy."

Brittany comes back with a first aid kit and places it on Quinn's lap.

"Okay," she says, authoritative, hands on her hips in the middle of the room. "Fact One. Our daughters are banging each other like lesbian bunnies in heat."

Rachel makes a whining sound and hides her face in Quinn's neck. She kisses Rachel's head, all lavender shampoo and softness, and continues to clean the small cuts.

Quinn clears her throat. "Two. The denial is deeper than the center of the Earth."

Santana nods, simultaneously angry at their daughters being together and not being together. "They'll hurt each other and I can't have that on the Lopez-Pierce-Fabray-Berry 4th of July. Rachel's dad is going to drink too much beer and ask about boyfriends, and Sara will pull a Santana and lie and Ellie will cry and if she cries-"

Rachel's head snaps to Santana. "If your daughter makes _my daughter_ cry, Santana, I swear to GOD I'll—"

"If your daughter makes _my Sara_ cry, Rachel, you bet I can still take you down—"

"See?" Brittany raises her hands in the air. "We need to stop this madness."

Quinn sighs. "And what do we do?"

Brittany's smile grows from ear to ear. "Three. We do a reverse-parent trap. We daughter-trap them."

"You're a fucking genius!" Santana raises her glass in the air. "See, that's why I married you. You're the brains, I'm the forever traumatized parent."

"We need to be efficient on this," Rachel cuts in, all general-mode-tactical-planning-is-my-life. "We all need to look good for the wedding photos, and we're not getting any younger."

Brittany takes her notebook. "I have a plan."

* * *

**iii.**

It's time for VENGEANCE.

Santana smirks like the devil she _still_ can be – she has game, a lot of game, mountains of game, okay – before she knocks on Sara's door.

"Come in," her daughter muffled voice answers

She pulls her worried-parent face and enters the room hand in hand with Brittany.

"We need to talk, _cariño_." She sits on the edge of the bed, soon followed by Brittany.

Sara squints her eyes in suspicion. Smart like her mother, that one. "About what?"

"It's like when Simba found Nala." Brittany touches Sara's calf, rubbing circles with her thumb. "And he thought Nala was really pretty and strong and they started singing."

"I'm not following." Sara sits up straighter, cross legged on her bed.

"You're Simba, honey." Brittany nods categorically. "Ellie is Nala. You're a strong king, but you're afraid."

Santana cuts in before Sara can argue. "Now that you're blossoming into a beautiful young woman, you also have to know about protection."

Sara's eyes widen and she shakes her hands. "No, _mama_ , you really don't—"

Oh, the pleasure she's taking in her daughter's panic should be illegal. She hides her smile well, though.

"After all, there's still a risk of sexually transmitted diseases. You are exchanging fluids, _cariño_. Are you using gloves? Dental dams? Are you having unprotected anal sex?"

"That's dirty." Brittany scrunches her nose. "I hope not."

"Not that's anything wrong with anal sex, of course. It can be very pleasurable and healthy."

Brittany nods dreamily. "Very pleasurable."

"MOMS! TMI!" Sara stands up, pacing the room with her hands on her ears. "I did _not_ just hear that, oh my God."

"You can't go around spreading VDs to our friend's daughters, Sara. This is very serious." To her credit, she does not roll over cackling when she says it.

Sara pushes them both out. "Mom! Ma! No diseases are being transmitted! GOD! I promise!"

They open and close their own bedroom door, fake entering it.

Brittany counts to twenty. They turn around and tiptoe around the house, stopping right under Sara's bedroom window.

It's hard to hear at first, but then Sara's voice gets louder.

"No, Ellie! I JUST HAD A SEX TALK WITH MY MOMS! I discovered things I wish I never knew! I need therapy!"

She pauses for a few seconds.

"Are you laughing? _At my face_?" She gruffs, the left corner of her mouth twitching just like Brittany's when she's mad. "I don't even know why I talk to you. I should just go back to Cornell and leave _all_ of you behind."

Brittany rolls her eyes, whispering "she gets it from _you_."

Santana decides to ignore it.

Sara whines. "I know, Ellie. The Lopez-Pierce-Fabray-Berry 4th of July Barbecue. Blah blah very important tradition blah blah. Damn families."

She sits on the bed. "Yeah." She sounds softer now, gentler. "Yeah. Team Sallie. We'll power through their insanity."

Brittany makes the gooiest eyes at Santana. "She's such an adorable baby gay, San. Like you."

Santana nods, kissing the tip of Brittany's nose before they crawl their way out of the garden.

She calls Quinn immediately. " _Phase One: Learning Through Embarrassment_ is complete."

Quinn laughs. "Game on."

* * *

**iv.**

Rachel fidgets with her _It's My Tony Bitches_ apron.

Quinn, always the helpful wife, steps behind her to help. "Let me." She unties the knot swiftly, pushing it off Rachel's shoulder to kiss her neck.

"The plan, Quinn," Rachel breathes out, hand grasping the back of Quinn's neck to keep her there. Quinn sucks on her pulse point; she moans. "Think of our future grandchildren."

Quinn snickers against her skin, applying one last kiss before stepping back. "You're obsessed."

Rachel firmly ignores the comment. "Do you want to go over our lines? I know it's been a while since you had to perform. Nothing can go wrong, or they'll suspect it."

Quinn actually raises an eyebrow – she's raising an eyebrow to her wife! The nerve! – to give a very precise look, the _I-love-you-Rachel-but-you're-crazy_.

It's infuriating. "Quinn Fabray-Berry, if you're not taking our daughter's happiness seriously, we might as well give up right now and eat my fantastic food. My hours enslaved in front of the oven should not go to waste!"

She raises her hands in the air in defeat. "I didn't mean that, Rach." Her voice drops a little, all softness and calming Rachel down. "But you need to relax if we're going to sell this. Okay?"

Rachel huffs and leaves for the dining room, taking a lighter out of a drawer to light the candles.

Her phone buzzes, and Quinn goes to check it. It's Santana, letting them know that Sara is home, with no plans for the evening and absolutely starving after a day on the beach.

Starving is the key word. Quinn smiles.

Rachel checks everything twice before feeling satisfied. They go to Ellie's room and knock two times.

"It's unlocked, come in!"

She's reading a book on her armchair, legs tucked under her.

"Hi," she says, putting her book aside and smiling. Her face has long lost its baby fat and big cheeks; she's slender and elegant, like an adult now.

It makes Rachel want to cry a little bit.

Oh well, it'll look good for the role.

Quinn nudges her with her shoulder and takes the lead. "Sweetie, we'll have to leave. Your grandpa called. Leroy might be sick."

Ellie frowns, all concern and protectiveness. "Is everything okay? Do you want me to go with you?"

"No need to," Rachel says, placing a hand on Ellie's shoulder. "You know how your grandpa overreacts. It's probably just gas."

Ellie frowns. "Gross."

Quinn grins. "We just made dinner for two, though. Date night."

"And microwaving the food makes it bland and full of carcinogens." Rachel sounds very authoritative; Quinn _almost_ believes her. "You should have it, then."

"Call someone if you feel like sharing. We'll eat something with Rachel's parents."

Ellie accepts easily, and soon Rachel and Quinn leave the house and enter Santana's car, hidden in an empty garage across the street.

"So?" Santana says in lieu of a greeting, devouring some kind of chicken sandwich. "Did she fall for it?"

"Of course!" Rachel tries not to sound as indignant as she feels. "I'll let you know we're excellent actresses, Santana."

"If we know Sara, she's probably already texted Ellie saying she's hungry." Brittany cuts in, clapping excitedly. "She didn't have _any_ snack. Not even an ice cream."

Quinn smirks, fingers running through Rachel's hair.

Like clockwork, fifteen minutes later Sara's old car arrives in the Fabray-Berry household.

Rachel turns the baby monitors on, giving one to Brittany and keeping the other. "This is the kitchen. I'll keep the living room."

It's all static for a few seconds. Rachel shoots a few looks at the windows, trying to figure out what's happening.

Ellie's voice breaks the silence. They're in the living room. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Thanks for coming. Moms left me with too much food."

More static. They all lean in towards the monitor.

"Wait. This isn't a date, right?"

"OH. No, no. It was my moms' date night! It's nothing!" Something bumping into something. "I'll blow out the candles and throw the rose away, sorry Sara, I didn't mean-"

Sara clears her throat. "It's okay. It's kind of cool. Just us, right?"

"Yeah." A long pause. The four of them hold their breaths. "I kinda missed you lately."

"Yeah. Me too."

Static fills the air again; they're probably talking too low for them to hear.

Rachel can't help it anymore; she burst into a heartfelt rendition of _I Can Hear The Bells_.

Brittany promptly joins.

 _Phase Two: A Date By Any Other Name Would Still Be A Date_ complete.

* * *

**v.**

A soft alternative country plays in the living room stereo.

Ellie washes and Sara dries, as usual.

"Thanks for the food," Sara says, squeezing Ellie's waist before moving to open a cupboard. "You're lucky your mom is a cooking goddess. Mama can only cook _pasteles_ and _arroz con gandules_."

"Like my mom would settle for anything less than being absolutely exceptional." Ellie points to the _It's My Tony Bitches_ apron.

Sara snorts.

She re-arranges a few spices to add the salt and the pepper. A small baby monitor, very much turned on, draws her attention.

A baby monitor? What even?

She frowns and gestures to Ellie. "Come here," she mouths silently.

Ellie's green eyes go big, big. She pulls Sara by the hand to the corridor.

They give it a quick check, not finding any other listening devices.

"I can't believe they're spying on us!" Ellie says, stomping her feet – it's a little adorable – and running her hand through her hair. "I knew the date night thing was suspicious. We fell straight into it!" She huffs. "Oh my God, Sara, what if there are cameras? _What if they're watching us right now?_ "

Sara frowns. "You don't thing think they would—"

"Of course they would!" Ellie stomps her feet again. "They just daughter-trapped us, Sara!"

Sara grabs the hem of Ellie's pants and pulls her closer. "Come here." She's taller than Sara and they're both barefoot; Ellie hovers a little, gaze dropping to Sara's lips immediately. "Now they can't see what we're saying."

Ellie's palm – so warm, so soft – runs on Sara's shoulder. "I like the way your mind works." She smirks like the sexiest idea of all times just occurred to her. "I say we give them what they want."

"What do you mean?" Sara asks, her voice thick, mind clouded by Ellie's front brushing against hers.

"They want us to be together, don't they?" Ellie's tongue darts out and moistens her upper lip. "Let's be together. I'll propose to you. You'll leave college and I'll be your sugar mama. Let's give them their worst nightmare."

Sara grabs a handful of Ellie's blouse and pulls them together. Ellie places both hands on the wall, face inches from Sara's.

"Why do you get to propose?" Sara mumbles, mouth parted open. "You're so _not_ the one who wears the pants in this relationship."

Ellie's smile turn malicious; she presses her hips against Sara's, lips grazing Sara's neck. "First, I'm the one who's graduating with honors _and_ job offers," she whispers. "Second, we both know who the submissive top around here is."

"Bitch," Sara says, pulling Ellie's hair and joining their lips.

* * *

**vi.**

Britt parks the car, still humming _I Can Hear The Bells_.

Fucking song stuck to her fucking head forever. Santana wants to kill Rachel a little bit for it.

She gets out of the car, struggling with the heavy box of decorations and fireworks.

"We're here!" She screams to Rachel and Quinn, probably in the back making more food than anyone will ever be able to eat.

She hears Rachel's voice coming from the barbecue area.

"Coming!" Brittany screams right back, taking the box from Santana's hands. "Go change, I'll get started with this."

Santana grabs a beer – it doesn't matter if it's 10am it's the 4th of July okay – and goes to her room.

She regrets this decision immediately.

"OHMYGOD! WHY GOD? WHY?" The bottle falls from her hand, glass and beer spilling all over the floor as she covers her eyes. "RACHEL FABRAY-BERRY, COME HERE THIS INSTANT AND TAKE YOUR PERVERTED DAUGHTER AWAY FROM MY EGYPTIAN COTTON SHEETS!"

Elliot puts her blouse back on and Sara pushes her dress down, neither of them looking disturbed in the least.

Sara has the nerve to roll her eyes. "Gee, mom, _calm down_."

Rachel, Quinn and Britt show up in a hurry. "What's happened?"

"SEX HAPPENED, THAT'S WHAT HAPPENED." Santana takes several steps forward, grabbing Elliot's arm and pulling off the bed. "Young lady, we never had the parent talk, but you better start showing some respect FOR MY FUCKING KING SIZED BED if you want to date my daughter."

"Language, San," Brittany warns.

Rachel just looks frozen in place by the mental image of her little girl doing the dirty.

"Santana is right, Ellie." Quinn uses her stern voice, arms crossed and right foot tapping fast on the floor. "This is very disrespectful of you."

Santana let's Elliot's arm go and points a finger to her daughter. "You, Sara, can forget about getting a new iPad or a new _anything_. And this dry cleaning bill is coming from your pocket."

Sara is smart enough to remain silent, eyes on the floor.

Brittany steps to the middle of the room. "I think everyone needs to calm down. Let's take deep breaths."

Everyone takes deep breaths.

Santana takes many several a thousand deep breaths.

The vein on her forehead is going to pop in any second. "I need a fucking drink. I need ten fucking drinks."

"I'm sorry, moms. We got carried away." Elliot looks around, eyes big as a puppy.

"Yeah," Sara finds her voice, stepping closer to Elliot and holding her hand. "It's just that Ellie proposed and we—"

"Got carried away," Elliot repeats, giving Sara a lovely look.

Brittany blinks a few times, staring at their daughters back and forth. "Sara, honey, you mean—"

"Whiskey." Rachel barks, hand clasping around Quinn's forearm. "I'm too sober."

"We're getting married!" Elliot says, smiling brightly. "And we're just in time for a fall wedding, if Sara takes the semester off from college to do the planning!"

The four of them stand there, staring in silence.

 _Phase Three: More Than Fireworks_ has gone terribly wrong.

* * *

**vii.**

Ellie takes big strides across the pool.

Sara is leaning against the edge, turned to her. She smiles. "Let's give them a show," she says, licking her lips.

Ellie comes closer, bodies hot under the sun, and joins their lips. Sara makes a little happy sound, wrapping her arms around Ellie's neck.

Her cousins squeal and scream, chased around by her little brother. He splashes water on them, whistling.

"Get a room!" He teases, boyish smile and little dimples, before diving in and taking their older cousin by the foot. He blows a kiss to Ellie and turns to the boy. "You are in big trouble, son!"

Every single man in the household chugs one beer after the other.

Her mom cuts onions with ferocious strikes of knife. Leroy finishes the salad, beer in one hand and fresh tomatoes on the other.

Santana is in front of the grill, halfway through a whiskey bottle. Maribel supervises the pork, eye on Santana. Frannie makes Margaritas.

Everyone stares at them.

The _If U Seek Lesbian_ Plan has been nothing but successful.

Ellie closes her eyes when Sara runs a hand on her hair, scratching her scalp up and down, up and down. "This is nice," she mumbles, hands on Sara's waist.

"I put on a good show," Sara answers, pressing their bodies together.

Ellie's stomach turns unpleasantly. She pulls herself up to sit on the edge of the pool. "We need to get to the _I Write Lesbians Not Tragedies_ part, though. We don't want your mom to become an alcoholic."

"But you know I've always dreamed of having a sugar mama!" Sara answers, oblivious, hands on Ellie's knees.

"Find yourself another engineer, then," Ellie answers with more bite than she intends.

She gets up and goes to the fridge. She's too sober for this shit.

Sara follows, wrapping a towel around herself. "Ellie?"

Ellie opens a can of beer and takes a big gulp. "What happens when summer is over, Sara?" Another. "You go back to Cornell. I'm almost finished with Stanford. What happens when I've got to decide where to go next?"

Sara frowns. "I don't—I never thought—"

"I can be closer to you." She pauses, looking right into Sara's eyes. "I can be on the other side of the country, too.

"No." Sara reacts, hand reaching for Ellie's. She takes a deep breath. "I want—"

Their mothers cut in.

"We need to talk," they say in unison.

Ellie hides her face in her hands.

* * *

**viii.**

This is not how the Lopez-Pierce-Fabray-Berry 4th of July Extravaganza is supposed to go.

Things that _are_ supposed to happen:

1- Leroy and Hiram get a little tipsy and they start and impromptu sing off with everyone

2- Frannie's margaritas going all around and the teenagers sneaking a few ones

3- Ellie, Sara and the teenagers dancing around to the gayest and pop-est hits

4- Friends arriving with beer

5- Swimming in the pool

6- Santana dragging Brittany to the coat closet and riding Brittany's hand like there's no tomorrow

7- Awesome fireworks

8- Having a good time

Things that have happened, instead:

1- Rachel breaking two glasses with her bare hands

2- Santana drinking an entire bottle of whiskey

3- Santana nearly ruining the pork

4- Maribel saving the pork and the barbecue and the day

5- Frannie making margaritas and drinking them herself

6- Ellie and Sara GETTING ENGAGED

7- Sara saying she wants to DROP COLLEGE

8- Sara and Ellie making out in the pool

9- Sara and Ellie!

Brittany sighs. "My head aches, San."

Santana sits by her side and pulls her close. "Come here," she says, kissing Brittany's temple. She reeks of whiskey and _arroz dulce_ , but Brittany doesn't mind.

"I think I'm too much of a genius. The plan has gone too far."

Santana smiles a little, tips of her fingers running up on Brittany's arms. "That you are, Britt-Britt."

Brittany sighs again, nestling against Santana's side. "Maybe I need a PhD in Psychology, too. Or Human Behavior."

Santana tickles her sides; Brittany swaps her hands away, grinning. "Nah." She smiles. "You've already got three, smart girl. What we need is a new tactic."

Rachel walks their way. She puts her hands on her waist, full of righteous indignation. "I can't stand this anymore! We need to do something!"

"Calm yo titties, Rachel." Santana puts her hands up, wobbling a little. "I know what we need to do." She's slurring. "Let's be real supportive. Let's be so supportive we'll scare the shit out of them, okay? There's nothing less exciting than supportive parents. Their vaginas are going to dry like a desert."

Rachel shrieks. "That's my daughter you're talking about!"

 _Phase Four: Ice Ice Baby_ is on.

* * *

**ix.**

Maybe this was a bad idea.

They hadn't imagined their moms would _approve_.

"So Rachel and I will pay for the wedding, and Santana and Britt put down the first payments on the apartment." Her mom scribbles on her notebook. "Rachel is between shootings, so she'll organize the ceremony."

Sara, wearing an old Mafalda shirt over her bikini, just seems to take everything in stride.

Rachel goes wild on an excel spreadsheet, typing faster than Ellie ever thought possible. "Have you thought of honeymoon locations? Have you bought Sara a ring, sweetheart?"

Ellie sighs. Sara tries to reach for her hand, but she just shifts further away.

"HONEY, I'M HOME!" Sam's melodious voice fills the backyard. "LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!" He arrives with Mercedes and little Lucas, who promptly escapes from his mother's arms and wobbles on chubby legs towards the other kids.

Ellie feels pure relief; she stands up and goes in Sam's direction. "Thank _God_! Uncle Sam!"

She envelops him in a bear hug, enjoying the familiar scent of his cool aftershave. "You have to save me from this madness! The mothers have gone insane!"

He kisses Ellie's forehead, arm hanging around her shoulders. "What's the trouble this time? Did you and Sara set the tree house on fire _again_?"

"Take me somewhere? Just for a while?" Ellie makes her best puppy look. "You're my godfather, you _have_ to look after my well-being!"

He smiles good-naturedly. "Sure, kiddo. Let's go out for some ice cream."

Sara appears. "Ellie, you can't leave me!"

Ellie takes one step away from Sam. "Sara, please." She just looks at Sara, hoping she understands.

Sam looks between them, curious.

"Not right now." She wishes she didn't have the nosiest family in America's history.

"Ellie." Sara grabs her arm, eyes pleading. " _Don't leave me_."

Her stomach churns and churns and churns.

"Do you mean that?"

Sara's fingers dance their way up Ellie's arm. "Yes. I do." She pulls Ellie closer. "You're my best friend. I don't know how to _function_ without you."

Her breath catches on her throat. She bites her lip in silence.

"Let's not marry." Sara's voice becomes braver, easier. "Let's be together and pretend our moms aren't crazy and ignore them when they ask for grandchildren. Let's make out in front of your brother and traumatize that little shit for life too."

Ellie can't _not_ smile at the mental image.

Sara is doing that thing looking between Ellie's eyes and Ellie's lips like she can't concentrate. Ellie swallows dry, her body tense and stiff; she nods.

Sara kisses her. She tastes like chlorine and sunlight, arms around Ellie's neck as she slides their lips together.

Sam pulls them for a hug, one under each arm. "This is literally the gayest thing I have ever seen."

Ellie laughs, still clutching Sara's shirt, cheek pressed against Sam's chest. "I love you," she whispers to Sara.

"Like a love song babe," Sara answers, stupid grin on her face.

Ellie rolls her eyes.

Brittany gives a dreamy sigh. "Our children are cute little baby gay pandas."

 _Wait_. Ellie raises her head.

Their mothers are all standing by the guest bedroom window, a privileged view of the backyard, smiling like they know better.

Ellie sighs.

Sara pulls her for a wet, sloppy kiss.

 _Phase Two: I Write Lesbians Not Tragedies_ (probably) complete.


End file.
